


the moon is beautiful, isn't it?

by Timeskipped



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Feelings Realization, Fluff, Getting Together, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, and by that i mean hisoka sleeps where he wants and in this case that means on top of homare, spoilers for hisoka's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeskipped/pseuds/Timeskipped
Summary: Hisoka opens his eyes and looks up at Homare to see him with his hair sticking up, bathed in the early morning light, with a smile that makes Hisoka feel soft in that way he doesn’t understand.
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka
Comments: 34
Kudos: 192





	the moon is beautiful, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergence in that Hisoka is actually awake for some things when realistically he’d be asleep. Sorry Hisoka, you’ll get rest one of these days.  
> Thanks to the mystery event for giving me the ideas to write them with. This is my first A3! fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Hisoka doesn’t understand himself.

It’s strange, to find himself staring at the ceiling, awake in the middle of the night. Normally, he’d wait to sleep again, or find himself longing to look at the moon suspended above them. These two things come easily, just as thinking about his past does, now that he’s remembered it all.

Sometimes, he loses himself in thoughts about that past. Sometimes, his heart clenches, mind grasping at the words of someone telling him to live.

He wants to sleep, his eyes drooping, but he feels the need to find a distraction first. It’s not like he can leave so easily, not when he ended up in a bed other than his own, hoping to not be alone on a night like this.

He turns his head to the side, and finds his face pressed into the crook of Homare’s neck, and when he closes his eyes he automatically starts breathing the same rhythm as Homare is. He gets the urge to touch Homare’s hair—it’s a fascinating piece of himself that’s been revealed by Homare’s loud voice chipping away at his defences.

He lets himself do that, even though Homare is asleep. He reaches up, touches the purple strands. He presses his face further into Homare’s chest and wishes for sleep, but keeps petting his roommate like he’s a cat.

He falls asleep quickly, after that.

When he wakes up, he finds Homare stirring underneath him, moving around in their pile of pillows and blankets. Hisoka’s arms are still outstretched, reaching out instead of curling in on himself, and his sleepy mind tells him that he’s leaving himself vulnerable.

“Oh, Hisoka,” Homare’s voice is too loud, even softened by sleep.

Hisoka fully intends to go back to sleep, but feels Homare’s fingers touch first his hair, then go down to brush against his neck. It tingles, but not in a bad way. He opens his eyes, just a bit, and looks up at Homare to see him with his hair sticking up, bathed in the early morning light, with a smile that makes Hisoka feel soft in that way he doesn’t understand.

“Noisy…” Hisoka mumbles, then drops his head back to Homare’s chest. “G‘night…”

“Now, now,” Homare moves, pulling himself from under him, “we have to go to practice. At least get ready. I’ll get the marshmallows! That’ll be sure to get you up and ready!”

“Marshmallow…”

Homare sighs. There’s a shifting of blankets as Homare pulls himself away from Hisoka, leaving a cold spot where his body heat was. Then, there’s a crinkling sound, and something soft and fluffy ends up pressed by Hisoka’s lips.

He swallows it, savoring the sweet flavor of the fluffy marshmallow. He opens his eyes wider.

“You’re lucky you fell asleep in my bed,” Homare is saying, “I keep these nearby for whenever you need them, so it was easy to pull them over.”

Hisoka doesn’t want to think about why he’d chosen to fall asleep up in Homare’s bed, exactly. It was a spur of the moment decision, really, because the idea of sleeping next to Homare was so appealing despite how prone to annoyances he is.

He remembers how Homare’s arms had wrapped around his waist, and he remembers Homare muttering poetry in his ears until he grumbled at him to stop. Then, Homare had fallen asleep, and Hisoka had been consumed with thoughts.

But for all he knows that Homare was okay with Hisoka joining him on his side of the room, Hisoka also has no idea why he’s so content here, pressed up against Homare’s stomach and eating all the marshmallows offered to him.

“Let’s go,” Hisoka says, lifting himself up. He readjusts his hoodie and hops down to the floor without using the ladder. Homare’s wide eyes are staring down at him from the loft bed, fingers outstretched towards the floor as if to stop him, as if he even could. He’s holding the marshmallows in his other hand, and Hisoka waits for him to follow, shooting him a look that he hopes illustrates his impatience.

“Ah, Hisoka, I still need to get ready myself—” He stops there, favoring climbing down the ladder as opposed to reprimanding Hisoka.

“...Okay.” Hisoka waits for him. It’s easy to wait, as Homare gets ready for the day. Hisoka dozes off as he does, though, thinking of things soft and fluffy, like marshmallows, or Homare’s hair, or the way Hisoka’s chest feels when he’s dreaming of the past.

He’s awoken by Homare pulling him into the practice room by the arm. When Homare gives him the marshmallows he’s been promised, Hisoka blinks awake fully, in the light of the morning, and knows that it’s no dream.

He’s awake, and the fluffy feeling comes back to him, looking up at Homare. His eyes are smiling, going up to Tasuku and throwing his arms wide, shouting out a poem. Tasuku rolls his eyes and shoots out a sharp word, and Azuma laughs softly while Tsumugi tries to start their practice for real. Guy’s lips quirk ever-so-slightly upwards. This, too, is normal for them.

(Hisoka thinks he understands, a little bit. Homare is practically shining with happiness, after all.)

* * *

Chikage gives him a look from across the table. “You’re acting weird,” he says, resting his cheek on his fist. “You’re not eating marshmallows.”

Hisoka closes his eyes, curling his arms around his legs. He’s balanced himself on the chair while they wait for dinner to be ready, and Hisoka has been promised marshmallows in the dessert. He’s glad that Omi’s around to do that for him, even though it means no snacking on them while Omi makes dinner. “...Mm. Arisu ran out of them.”

“Then you’re waiting for him to get back? You better not eat the ones he gives you before you have an actual meal.”

Hisoka’s head falls a bit; he’s so sleepy, and he doesn’t want to listen to Chikage anyway. “Arisu doesn’t care, and you shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t know why I try,” Chikage sighs sharply. “I’ve told you before that the sweets have rotten your taste buds, right? Because I bet they’ve rotten your common sense away, too. You always did fall asleep too easily, and now you need marshmallows to even stay awake.”

Hisoka falls asleep, effectively blocking out whatever Chikage has to say. It’s not like it matters, anyway, because as much as he complains about Hisoka’s addiction to sweet things, Chikage’s just as bad with his spices.

He awakes again when he hears someone moving behind him, causing him to blink quickly into alertness.

Homare is standing behind him, one hand braced on the back of the chair. His longest strand of hair is nearly touching Hisoka’s face when he tilts himself back to look at him.

“Hisoka! I have returned!”

He can see that. Hisoka doesn’t know what to say, and ends up only staring at Homare.

Homare moves to Hisoka’s side, smiling. “I’m surprised that you’re awake—did you hear me?” He seems to think for a moment, sitting next to Hisoka and putting a hand to his own chin. His eyebrows shoot up. “I did come behind you. You said before that—”

“It’s fine,” Hisoka interrupts him. If it’s Homare, he can deal with him behind him. He’s loud, anyway, and it’s impossible for him to sneak up on anyone. “...Welcome home.”

Chikage makes a noise that sounds a bit like a scoff—it seems that he’s still there across from Hisoka, although he’s pulled out a laptop now.

Homare looks up at Chikage as well. “And hello to you as well, Chikage!”

“Likewise. I trust you brought marshmallows for Hisoka?” He sounds disaffected, and he doesn’t stumble over Hisoka’s name at all, though Hisoka shouldn’t be surprised by that. He smiles at the two of them, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “Don’t be unreasonable with how many you give out.”

“I would never,” Homare smiles. His hand reaches down to touch Hisoka’s shoulder.

When Chikage turns back to what he was doing, Hisoka once again looks up at Homare. “Arisu…”

“Hm?”

Hisoka doesn’t know why he pauses looking up at Homare. His hand is warm on Hisoka’s shoulder, a steady pressure that feels less uncomfortable than he would expect. “You took too long,” he settles on, but he kind of wants to touch Homare’s hair again. Weird.

“How rude!” Homare doesn’t even seem offended by this. “I took as long as I needed to get everything. It’s not an easy task to shop for dinner.”

Shopping for the others in the dorm, taking care of Hisoka… it’s so normal, Hisoka realizes. This is the type of thing he wasn’t able to have before. Even when Hisoka is arguing with Chikage at the table, waiting for Homare to come home and not anticipating an upcoming mission has become their precious reality. This is no distant dream, a fact which wells up inside Hisoka’s chest.

Hisoka shakes away the thought, but keeps the warmth it gives him. He drops his head to rest his chin on his knees, smiling lightly to himself.

Speaking of dinner, though… Hisoka spots the multitude of bags in Homare’s hand out of the corner of his eye. Out the top of one, he can see the plastic of a marshmallow bag, and his mouth starts watering. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s had one, and he ends up turning his head towards it in anticipation.

“I’ll give these to Omi,” Homare says when he notices him looking, holding up the bags out of Hisoka’s reach, not that it would be hard to forcibly take them. “Then you’ll have a marshmallow dessert! Besides, I have other things in here, too, and I don’t want you to accidentally take any of those.”

Hisoka pouts, but Homare just laughs, going to the kitchen where Omi’s surely waiting.

Chikage clears his throat.

“You seem happy.”

“Mmm…” Hisoka hums, letting his eyes flutter shut. “It’s different, from before. But good.”

“You’ve always had people taking care of you,” the tapping on Chikage’s laptop stops. “But I can see how they’re incomparable. This family is so much larger, after all.”

It’s true. They’re larger, and Hisoka now has the entirety of Winter Troupe to help him along as he figures things out. They, including Homare, care for him in different ways than August did, their dynamics shifted in a way that feels strange and comforting in equal measure.

“Arisu mostly just gives me marshmallows,” Hisoka says, “but he won’t do it today…” Annoying. Hisoka knows it’s not right to complain when he’s so happy, but he can’t help but be a little selfish.

“He cares about you a lot. I wonder… if it’s more than just being troupemates. He does seem to do a lot for you,” Chikage says, his voice low.

Why would Chikage say that? Hisoka is already aware of how Homare _cares._ He gives him marshmallows _because_ he cares, that’s what he said during their second play—

_Oh._

Hisoka gives Chikage a long stare, but he only raises an eyebrow in return. “Please tell me you’ve noticed that he takes care of you most,” Chikage continues.

“Of course I have,” Hisoka frowns. His heart feels weird, but warm. Because the idea of Homare caring in a way that’s more than just as friends is, oddly enough, a lot to take in. Even if Chikage is wrong, Hisoka thinks he _wants_ that.

“And you have a soft spot for him, too,” Chikage continues, but his voice softens at the edges, this time. He’s not accusing Hisoka of anything. “You let him give you things, and you let him walk behind you—that’s you showing you care, too, isn’t it?”

Chikage is wrong; he does more than just let Homare do that. Hisoka thinks back to a broken pocket watch that he told Tasuku to fix. He thinks of knocking at Izumi’s door and asking her how to understand, and he thinks of waking up in the middle of the night to see Homare passed out at his desk—Hisoka felt a calmness overtake him, before silently draping a blanket over his shoulders and deflecting when asked about it the next morning.

Hisoka thinks of mornings woken by Homare, of hands pressed against his shoulder blades to push him into practice, of Homare’s brilliant smile when he remembers a line he’s been having trouble with, and how a similar smile persists when he’s with Hisoka. He thinks of how Homare calls Tasuku to bring Hisoka back to their room when Hisoka falls asleep outside.

This kind of relationship isn’t bad. It lodges itself warmly into Hisoka’s life, as natural as if it was always supposed to happen.

“...Maybe,” Hisoka says, and Chikage just raises an eyebrow. “I like him,” Hisoka confesses, after a moment of silent deliberation. Chikage can know that much, but he doesn’t have to learn that Hisoka thinks that romance is something he might, somehow, want with Homare. “...But he’s too noisy all the time.”

“And yet you’re still like that around him.” Chikage’s blue eyes smile with his mouth; he’s being genuine, even when teasing. He doesn’t say he’s happy for Hisoka, but Hisoka thinks he sees it, in the way he glances to where Homare left.

“Mmm,” Hisoka replies, and perks up when Homare’s head peeks around the corner.

“Omi says that dinner will be done soon!” he exclaims. “And of course dessert is after that, Hisoka. Until then, I have extras!” He holds up a large bag of marshmallows with pride and flair, and Hisoka finds himself smiling.

(Somewhere in himself, Hisoka realizes that he might be lying to himself when he calls Homare annoying. Just a little.)

* * *

He wants to say something, but he’s not sure what. He ends up sitting with Homare in the courtyard, where the setting sun illuminates Homare’s hair in red. It’s pretty, which is a thought that Hisoka doesn’t know how to swallow down.

When Hisoka curls up on Homare’s side, pulling his legs up onto the bench, he feels a calming sort of familiarity, as if this is where he’s supposed to be. As if he’s supposed to be waiting for Homare to speak, hoping that he can find a way to tell him how much he matters, but knowing that the words will escape him.

Homare doesn’t speak, though. He soaks up the silence and the sun, and he shivers when Hisoka’s head tilts so that his eyelashes flutter over Homare’s neck. Hisoka smiles at this, before Homare jerks away.

“Ah, that tickles, Hisoka!”

Hisoka gives him a long stare. Homare responds with a hurt look.

Homare ends up murmuring poetry, like always. He stares up at the sky, where the moon hasn’t yet appeared, and starts saying something about _red, candy, skyline,_ some mix of words that Hisoka doesn’t understand and doesn’t care to. He pulls out a feathered pen and notebook from somewhere in his jacket, and scratches the words down in some strange, incomprehensible order. Hisoka huffs out a breath and sleeps against Homare’s shoulder.

He wakes up in the dark. The lingering twilight has made the courtyard dark with long shadows, and when Hisoka looks up, the moon is split perfectly in half in the purple sky.

“Ah, Hisoka,” Homare says, and Hisoka tilts his neck to look him in the eye. There’s that soft look again, the one that makes Homare’s eyes crinkle. “Have you noticed the moon? It’s perfect, is it not?”

“Mmm,” Hisoka nods, smiling gently up at Homare. “...It is.”

The moon fills him with longing for a time that’s impossible to get back to, but it’s still beautiful. That much, the two of them can agree on. If it fills Homare with poetic inspiration, it’ll be annoying, but it’s still something that Hisoka thinks is worthwhile.

“Ah…” Homare brushes his hand on Hisoka’s back. “Perhaps we should go inside. I brought my notebook out here, but it’s going to be too dark to write soon. _And_ I’m running out of space in it. I’ll need a new one soon, but it can wait until I go shopping for you. Oh, the curse of being a genius!”

“...Wait.” Hisoka grasps Homare’s arm, pulling on his sleeve. He doesn’t want to leave, really. He wants to sit here, for a moment longer, and look at the moon with Homare. It’s something he understands so easily, and he doesn’t want to let it go quite yet.

The motion pulls him closer to Homare. He’s been by Homare’s side, half against the back of the bench and half resting his weight on his roommate, but this draws him near, to where Homare’s poetry is hidden within his coat, alongside his nonmechanical heart. He thinks this is supposed to be the moment he gets nervous, but Homare has never quite made him shy, so he feels the happiness of closeness and belonging with all his heart.

“Yes, Hisoka?” Homare blinks at him slowly, peacefully. Like a noisy cat.

Hisoka thinks he wants to confess. He does, even if that means forgetting looking at the moon for a moment. He lets go of Homare’s sleeve, instead pressing his face lightly onto his shoulder. He focuses his eye on the back of the bench.

“Hm. Perhaps…” he says softly, tasting the line on his tongue slowly, unsure if he wants to say it. Is it too dramatic for them, off stage? Is it too much, too fast, for Homare? “Perhaps I care for you more than I had thought.”

Homare’s eyes widen. “What did you just say?”

Hisoka closes his eyes, wanting to avoid Homare’s intrusive gaze. That, and it’s making his heart beat faster. Weird. Homare’s weird. “Remember how you said that, Arisu?”

“Yes, of course,” Homare’s hands come to rest delicately on Hisoka’s back. “But I never imagined that you’d say it back. At the time, you said you didn’t care about me that much.” Homare laughs with his whole body, shaking Hisoka, who leans back and opens an eye to see him smiling widely. “You’re troublesome, you know that?”

“Don’t care.”

“Yes, yes,” Homare seems happy. “I knew I mattered to you even then, though. Even if it was just because you need me to give you marshmallows. Like now.”

He reaches for a bag by his side, pulling out a marshmallow and putting it to Hisoka’s lips. Hisoka stares at Homare’s smiling face while he bites down on the soft, sugary sweet. “I’ve realized…” Hisoka begins, when the marshmallow is gone, “that you matter more than just as someone who gives me marshmallows. Arisu… you’re annoying. But I like you.”

He still wants to understand Homare, but he thinks he’s finally figured out the happiness that blooms delightfully in his chest when Homare blushes.

“Ah! I feel poetic inspiration coming to me!” Homare exclaims, practically buzzing in his excitement. His hands press a little harder on Hisoka’s back, but it’s not uncomfortable when Hisoka gets pulled further on top of Homare. “A poem of deep emotions, indeed! Where-oh-where is a notebook…?”

He begins to move around, his legs squirming below Hisoka, who moves to stop him, lightly grabbing Homare’s stray arm. “Just remember it,” he tells Homare, pressing down on his legs until his red eyes meet Hisoka’s. Hisoka can feel Homare’s pulse where his fingers press onto his wrist. “I know you can.”

“I suppose so,” he says, relenting easily, his other hand moving from Hisoka’s back to where his hand and Homare’s wrist meet. His fingers are warm. “But will you listen to me? That way, if I forget, I can just get it from you.”

Hisoka allows his hand to release Homare easily, feeling a deep warmth when it’s clasped between Homare’s. In the darkness surrounding them, it feels private, this small thing between them, with the ease in which Homare indicates that he cares. Hisoka had been afraid, distantly, that Homare wouldn’t understand him, but as their fingers clasp together, Hisoka knows that Homare must have.

“...Okay,” Hisoka obliges, lying his head down on Homare’s chest. “I think I might fall asleep, though…” He closes his eyes. Homare’s breathing pulls him closer to rest.

“I’ll give you even more marshmallows,” Homare rests his sharp chin on Hisoka’s head, handing him the mostly-empty bag he’s kept beside him. “I’ll get them after this, so make sure to listen closely! I want you to feel the poetry inside you, to hear what I’m telling you!”

Hisoka snaps open his eyes. “I’m listening,” he says, immediately, and it’s only half because of the promised marshmallows.

The other half wants to tell Homare that he knows how hard it is to understand a person. Hisoka’s had to figure out where he fits into the world without memories, but he’s always had him and the rest of Winter Troupe. He can’t express how important it was to him, to be found, and to be helped.

Now, with his past intact, with everything coming together, Hisoka thinks he finally understands something of his future.

He doesn’t fall asleep when Homare recites his loud poem. He makes sure to remember the words so that he actually can tell Homare if he forgets. But more than anything, he listens to the question in Homare’s voice, asking Hisoka quietly, in between rhyme and overly complex language about a love that’s obviously theirs, if Hisoka really meant that he feels the same.

“...I want to stay with you, as more than a friend,” Hisoka says, when Homare is finished. Silence falls, after he speaks. He closes his eyes; if Homare won’t say anything, he might as well sleep until his brain works again. It might be nice, to have a few minutes of peace…

“I’d like that,” Homare says, close to Hisoka’s ear.

Hisoka hums, his heart calming. He hadn’t even realized how much he was worrying about Homare’s response until the answer came, and Hisoka feels himself relaxing in Homare’s arms, falling into a comfortable sleep.

(Homare realizes, a second later, that he still has to get the marshmallows he promised. Then again, Homare has always liked when Hisoka sleeps on him, so it’s tempting to wait, to write poems about the feelings bursting inside of him and let Hisoka be annoyed at him later. Still, a promise is a promise, and he’s not so cruel and overly romantic as to keep his… partner, he supposes, waiting; he gently moves Hisoka to his side, where he can lean on Homare’s shoulder and not on his lap.

He gets up to leave, but he can’t help himself in pressing his lips to the top of Hisoka’s head first. It’s barely a kiss, but Homare hopes that Hisoka gets the message.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! They make me very soft.  
> Also, I haven’t read anything past act 8, so I hope their characterizations weren’t too bad!


End file.
